Outsider
by RiaKitsuneYoukai
Summary: Very little is known about these People of The Water. I have been to their home. I will never go back. -Implied Taang-


Picture an endless white skyline; the only differences you can see being the fade from pearl-white to snow-white, standing out against the deep azure ocean below a small, bone-carved raft. The rivermen guiding our boat -- 'benders', they are called -- move us foreward with soft movements of their legs and arms; they never seem to touch the water, and yet we travel with constant speed. I pull up tighter the coat they have leant me; it is blue, and we are the only colors in this icy world, made of the pelts of deer-like animals. It is freezing here.

But the icy temperatures count for nothing once your eyes consume the giant ice wall of the Inuit settlement at the North Pole. At least a hundred feet high, and carved with designs of waves. A crest of a moon and more waves decorate the center of its greatness. The benders stop their fluid movement (it is very remnecent of T'ai Chi Chuan, which I once studied) and one calls up to a guard stationed on the wall. I can see him nod; the bottom of the barrage opens, as though it is a falling glacier, into a half-moon tunnel, again by unseen movement and unexplained means. Our raft drifts through, following the canal. We come upon a gate, one of ice, which I assume controls the water flow; men, at least ten on either side of the gate, begin moving like the benders on our raft had (I believe they might be 'benders' of a different specialty), and the gate splits. Water rushes by us, and we slowly decend (though faster than modern metal floodgates; I make a note to ask these people how it is done). The gates let us flow through, into the massive city -- nothing like I have ever seen with Inuit people. They call themselves _Shui Ren _-- the People of the Water -- and so I wonder if they are some forgotten civilization that the present world has covered up, perhaps like Atlantians, claiming they are only Inuit. Then again, I am one of the very first outsiders to be allowed into their society.

The city reminds me of Venice, where the roads are water and the buildings high; people strut by on sidewalks of snow and wave down at us from the long bridges that overhang the river. These bridges are also decorated by symbols of the moon and ocean. I ask my phtographer, a kind man from this tribe who works also as my translator, about them, and he smiles at me, saying, "These are the protectors of our people. Our strength comes from _Tui_ -- the Spirit of the Moon. Our life comes from _La_ -- the Spirit of the Ocean."

My acompaniees bring me to a great building, held high by massive pillars of ice, also decorated with symbols; one is the same I have been seeing everywhere outside. The other depicts three swirls, like crashing waves, tumbling onto smaller wavy lines, both of which resemble the movement of the ocean. A broad-shouldered man stands before us, the only person standing among a council of seated members. I bow respectivly before him; he is the chief of this tribe, Arnook. He has the same dark, chocolate-like skin, long face, bright blue eyes, and brown hair as any other of the tribe, shoulder-length and pulled back partly into what I am told is called a 'warriors' wolf tail'. At the front, long strands are bound with blue beads, matching to that of the collar he wears and the jewelery that is common among these people. He smiles at us, and it is a very warm smile -- I feel safe among these people, granted how little I know of them. He tells me that I am free to roam the city and talk to whomever I please, provided that my translator and one guard come along. I thank him.

It is after a long day of walking and interviewing with the people that I come to sit in front of the council once again, as well as the villagers, who form a great circle around us. I have learned a large amount in the short day, but the information is bewildering, unless these people have psycokinetic abilities; the are able to heal using chi paths and water, can erect high forms of snow with their hands, fight each other with liquid that follows their movements like a dance. These are impossible feats.

I and my translator are knelt before a long table, endowed with amounts of food I would have never have thought possible for such a barren place. There are plants I am sure come from very deep, impossible-to-reach places. These people continue to amaze me.

Chief Arnook speaks to his people -- tells them of my visitation and thanks the ocean and moon spirits for delivering us safely -- and we eat. The food is strange, rubbery sometimes, but overall tasty, for one who favors seafood. The meal is filling, and the entire village is laughing and speaking in quick voices. I cannot pick out a single word, though I have been studying with my translator. Something exciting is to happen, I am told. We are going to visit their 'Spirit Oasis'; it is an area, they say, that bridges the mortal and spiritual worlds.

They do not lie. The atmosphere enough would make one believe of this bridge; there is one tiny opening in a wall to the oasis, and we go through one by one, the council and honored guests. Common folk wait behind the walls, favoring their lanterns and holding their children up to see over the crowd. I am surprised to find the place is warm -- enough that everyone peels off their outer coats and smiles. There is grass under my feet, which is utterly impossible in such a cold climate; it is not spring yet, and so the ground should not be defrosted. But it is. There is a small island under a large, wooden arbor at the back of the space, and flourishing green plants tower over it; massive ice walls close us in. The chief steps under the alter, raises his hands upwards, and begins telling us the story of how the Moon and Ocean spirits came to help them; I suddenly notice the two koifish in the pond below him. One is black, one is white. And they circle one another. One does not need to know a martial art to realise that they represent yin and yang. I cannot understand why the fish do this.

Chief Arnook is in the middle of his tale, and we are all absorbed -- suddenly a man comes tearing through the door, his feet sliding from under himself, calling for his chief. Everyone turns, confused, and my translator tries his best; there is something about 'the Avatar'. I can only assume he means a prophet.

Only moments later there is a great scream and gust of air, I nearly snap my neck turning to the door, which has burst apart, throwing ice blocks everywhere. There is a young boy in the wreckage, not fifteen years old, his head shaved and tattooed, his clothes monk-like. His eyes are glowing a feirce white -- I cannot imagine what has caused this. I would say he was possessed by a ghost, if I believed in such things.

The boy walks around the circle, his steps not slow but heavy, and the earth shakes with every move. His eyes are on the pool, and I see them but once -- it is a glare I would fear for my life by, should it look at me. He begins screaming again, his arms tight and hands balled into fists so tight they're bleeding. I wish to talk to my translator, but we are both too transfixed to move. The boy is speaking a different language anyway; Cantonese, it sounds like. He is pale in skin, though flushed a terrible shade of red, and it glows brightly when he moves to the center of the island, facing the two fish (the chief backs away quickly). I am reminded of the old paintings in my church, where the holy one's head shines with pure light -- but this is not a calm light. He roars once more, a long, drawn out, "KOH!"

He is speaking nonstop, his yelling vibrating off the high cliffs above us, and he steps into the pool. The fish begin to circle his feet (which breaks my assumption that they were tied together), and his hands form together in a fist and open palm. He is quiet for a moment, his eyes wide, and then the water swallows him up.

There is a long silence among the people. No one dares speak. There are footsteps coming; two Water People dash into the space. One is a woman, maybe just of marrying age, with a round face and long braid of hair. The other is a man, only a year or two older, his head mostly shaved, small bristles on his square jaw. Both are flustered -- the woman dashes up to where the glowing boy dissappeared, screaming, "Aang!"

The man stops a moment, his eyes narrowed, then moves to speak with the chief, who we are standing by. My translator is speaks very low for me; "He is gone into the Spirit World."

"Why?" I ask, my voice squeaking. Terror is jolting through everyone it seems, and perhaps not because of the glowing boy, but the way his voice tore at us (though as no one can speak his language, we do not know what he has said).

"The Face Stealer has taken his lover."

The entire village is dead silent. Even the people outside the Oasis are trembling, acting as though they have witnessed a bloody massacre. I do not want to spend a moment longer in this place; I do not care what the anthropologists back home will say to me. I want to leave.

I ask my translator to find us a phone, and he looks at me sadly before asking. Strangly, no one seems to know what a phone is, let alone where to find one. So instead I ask for a boat out of the place -- Chief Arnook nods tersely and practically shoves me out of the building with his eyes. There are different benders controlling the raft now, and they are much quicker about it.

We are almost to the island where my ship first landed -- deep enough to sail in, but the ship is too large to fit through the barricades of ice the Water People have built to protect themselves -- practically within reaching distance of the hull when the pulse runs under us. Like thunder without sound, it shocks beneith our raft, and all on board rock and yelp; the first sound that I've heard since the glowing boy. It ripples out into the far ocean, past the horizon. And then the boy's scream echos.

I have never gone back to the Northern Water Tribe.


End file.
